


God Rest You Merry, Gentlemen

by FallacyFallacy



Series: The Annual Christmas Carol Fic [7]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF
Genre: Christmas, Depression, Established Relationship, F/M, Infidelity, John Laurens Lives, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, Post-War, Religious Guilt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-16 23:24:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13064340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FallacyFallacy/pseuds/FallacyFallacy
Summary: Christmas 1791.Based on the Lams AU, with permission.





	God Rest You Merry, Gentlemen

Far from bringing joy to his heart, the heavy thudding of the church bells sent beats of pain through Alexander Hamilton’s tired brow; likewise, the thick aroma of rose and herb so diligently nurtured among the pews only left him feeling faint. It was not unusual for him to feel strangely uncomfortable in God’s holiest of places, as though his spiritual failings should manifest in physical perturbation, but this year was far worse than most. If his wife had intended by pushing him to fast for Advent that he would see the true godliness of self-denial, she hadn’t entirely failed, but he would admit that the most glaring consequence had been a lingering tiredness and twinging headache he could not seem to escape from.

As the family passed the heavy stone doorframe and shuffled out into the open air, Alexander tugged his cloak more tightly around him; petulantly, he couldn’t help but feel he’d give up the prettiness of the snow crunching underfoot and frosted ponds in exchange for being able to leave a building without feeling his bones cry out in pain.

“Papa, can we go home now?” Little Alec was tugging at his sleeve. “I’m cold.”

Betsey whirled around, stoic composure twitching into a frown. “You cannot wait five minutes after leaving church to start complaining? Weren’t you listening to the Reverend at all?”

Alec shrunk. “Sorry, mama.”

Betsey sniffed, turning away and absently patting her hand against Jimmy’s back where he cuddled into her neck. “I know I cannot expect you to refrain from mischief on Sundays, but surely you can at least restrain yourself one day a year...”

Philip and Angelica shared a look while Alec scuffed his boots moodily. Alexander winced as well, knowing full well that his wife’s dark mood was entirely his fault in this case.

“As long as you ask the Lord for forgiveness and repent, you will be forgiven,” he assured his son.

“Yes,” Alec said immediately, “I’m very sorry.”

Betsey narrowed her eyes suspiciously, and Alexander was certain that if they were alone she would have given quite the retort to his statements, but here in public and in front of the children she merely turned away.

“If your father wishes to take you home he may, but I have many matters to speak of here with friends of mine… we are working on a great many projects over the Christmas season, so it may take some time.”

“Yes, I think...” but then something caught his eye, a flash of colour and movement, and he found himself locking eyes with Laurens.

For several seconds they stared at one another without speaking.

Alexander’s heart leapt for its life, only to plummet immediately as gravity took hold.

Betsey spoke, “Alexander?”

He winced, seeing in the shape of his wife’s brow and mouth the very moment she realised he had been exchanging a glance with his lover.

“Uncle Laurens!” Philip cried out, loudly enough that others in the crowd around them took notice.

“No, he won’t be spending the day with us this year,” Betsey said immediately, placing her hand on his shoulder with haste.

Philip’s eyes went comically wide. “What? Why not?”

“I wanna play with Fanny!” Angelica chimed in.

Alexander’s mind spun, searching for a way to calm the scene, even as his heart urged him to rebel against this decision ardently.

“He just won’t. Don’t talk back to your father,” Betsey scolded.

The children turned their yearning eyes to him instead, and Alexander swallowed.

“Yes – we will be having Christmas dinner as as family this year,” he said as firmly as he could. “Your mother and I will already be giving you presents tonight – don’t be selfish and ask for more.”

He thought he heard Philip mumble something like ‘but Uncle Laurens always gives the best presents...’ but Betsey ignored it so he did as well.

“Perhaps we should make our way home now, after all,” Betsey said, hugging Jimmy closer to her. “The wind isn’t good for the baby.”

But Alexander’s eyes had trailed back, and though he couldn’t see his expression clearly, he was certain that his friend’s posture as he bent to speak to his daughter betrayed a pained stiffness.

“...in fact, as he will not be joining us this evening, it may be best to speak to Uncle Laurens right now,” he said slowly.

Betsey glared at him. “I don’t see why that is necessary.”

Alexander swallowed thickly. His head still pounded here and there, and ever since they had arrived at church a frantic sense had risen through him, as though the twigs and vines decorating the windows and altar had twisted around him to pull him back to righteousness.

“I ought to greet him at least,” he said, voice strained, and stomped onward through the muddy ground before his wife could react.

Pushing through the crowd, he saw Frances first, lips pursed and arms crossed. When she spotted him, her eyes widened and she reached for her father immediately.

John looked pinched, strained, and he gasped visibly when Alexander stopped before him.

“Merry Christmas, my friend,” Alexander said.

John stared at him, and some part of Alexander wanted to laugh in relief at the joy he saw in his lover’s eyes.

But then John’s expression hardened. “Merry Christmas,” he said without inflection.

Alexander’s chest was tight. He fumbled with his cloak again, distracting his hands away from reaching out to his friend in dearest longing.

“And Merry Christmas to you too, young Fanny.”

“Merry Christmas,” she said, “and I’m not a little girl anymore.”

“No, not at all – you’re becoming a very beautiful young woman.”

Frances still seemed displeased, but Alexander’s attention strayed back to John without another thought.

“How have you been?” He huffed, wetting his lips against the frosty air. “My Betsey – she insisted we fast for Advent… never has Christmas goose seemed so appealing!”

He regretted mentioning the name as soon as he said it; John’s brow furrowed even more deeply.

“Though I suppose that’s mainly the comfort of distance,” he added quickly. “That winter of ‘79, I’m sure I dreamed of such succulence for months beforehand – and afterwards! Especially since I was unfortunate enough to miss it the previous year...”

“Apologies, but we really must be off soon,” John said.

Alexander’s mouth went dry.

“No – but why?” His laugh was shockingly shaky; John glanced down at his daughter, but she seemed to be watching back in the direction Alexander had come. “Can’t I spare a moment with my dear friend?”

John’s eyes were sad, and Alexander felt the panic threaten to overcome him for a moment.

“It is nothing we haven’t done before,” he snapped. “Just three weeks ago we chatted amiably as ever when services were over…!”

“Alex,” John murmured harshly, now almost glaring at him; when Alexander flinched, he softened. “We… can speak later,” John continued lamely.

Alexander breathed in deeply, cold air coating the inside of his throat and lungs. He had come, he thought, to comfort his friend – but he had failed to anticipate how deeply John’s distance today would wound him.

“Yes,” he agreed, with a firm nod. “This evening I will visit you, for an hour or so – that ought to be acceptable. No-one should be without the company of friends on Christmas.”

John appeared doubtful, glancing back towards Alexander’s family as well, but Alexander refused to turn an inch.

“...then I shall anticipate your presence,” John murmured quietly, and though Alexander knew he was merely disguising his voice from curious ears, the warmth of the quiet words soothed the worst of Alexander’s disquiet instantly.

“...yes, please do so,” he agreed. He held John’s eye for several moments, forcing a soft smile that he hoped would communicate as much of his love as was possible at this time; eventually, John smiled weakly in response.

The bells clanged again, loudly, and the moment dropped. 

“Well!” Alexander coughed, struggling to regain a neutral temperament. “I suppose I shall see the two of you tonight then!”

John nodded. Frances turned to him to wave goodbye as well, more readily than he had expected.

“Have a good day!” he added, not failing to notice how John’s mouth pursed in worry as he walked back to his family.

“How come we couldn’t come with you?” Philip asked as soon as he returned.

Betsey threw him a pleading look and he sighed.

“We weren’t talking about anything very interesting,” he said. “Just sharing old memories from the war.”

“I wanna hear that!” Philip announced immediately, bouncing on his feet.

“No battles,” Alexander said dryly. “Just how happy we were to eat proper meat at Christmas. And the time I almost died.”

Philip fell back. “That’s not exciting.”

“Philip!” Betsey said, beyond exasperated. “That’s your father you’re talking about!”

“That’s right,” Alexander said, “we should all be very grateful that I am alive and well today!”

He expected a laugh of some sort, but received none – his children merely gazed up at him in confused agreement, while his wife turned away from him.

As they walked back home, he didn’t know how to feel.

*

The house was as festively decorated as he remembered from the morn, window panes and sitting room tables bedecked with holly and mistletoe and ivy, petals and rosemary strewn artfully in vases and crevices. The children joined in with joy as they sung a few carols together (even little Jimmy joining in tunelessly), and laughed with glee when he and Betsey finally distributed their gifts for the season. In no time at all, Philip and Alec were running amok pointing toy swords and pistols at one another, and even Angelica was chasing after them clumsily making snorting sounds as she galloped astride her hobby horse.

But as he sat at his wife’s side on the couch, he found his attention shifting to young Jimmy. His face was lit up with delight as he pushed backwards and forwards on his rocking horse, bouncing his chubby little legs against it gleefully beneath his dress. Although it seemed only yesterday that he had been newborn, already he was three years old. Usually, he and Betsey would have already kindled a new life within her by now. 

But, given how the last year had fared, he wasn’t surprised the topic had barely been broached between them.

He curled his arm around her more tightly, immediately relieved when she leaned into him. He would be intensely disappointed if his progeny ended here, and he knew she felt the same – ever since Philip had been born, it had been clear to them both that they adored children and wished to have as many as they were able to. They were still making love, of course, but he hoped that soon the distance between them would dissipate enough that they could begin to make a concerted effort to bring about another child again.

His wife nuzzled against his cheek, soft hair brushing against his skin, and Alexander’s eyes fluttered closed in calm. He understood why Betsey was so reluctant to allow him to speak to John on this day – whenever they were separated, the biblical commands she followed so scrupulously felt so much louder in his mind, and the unease which he was so often able to banish would slither back into his consciousness. How often had he berated John for considering their relaionship a sin? And yet, when he sat here in her arms surrounded by the life God had bestowed on them, he felt once more like the young boy who had felt sure he was seeing the ancient flood of Noah in winds that threatened to tear his island to pieces.

And yet… he could not think of the subject and forget about his other beloved, and how this pain and confusion was an unbanishable presence within him. Then, his heart would ache in time to John’s, mutual affection twining their sensibility as if they were one, and he knew he could not abandon him to a quiet house bereft of a lover’s touch just because he himself had another’s at his own. 

Then, as the feeling gripped him, he too would find himself desperate for reassurance – unlike John, kind and good caring between them would soothe his troubled mind entirely of the supposed sinfulness of their behaviour. When he felt his longest lover’s soft touch, he could never bring himself to believe in what he knew Betsey wanted him to realise to dearly.

The longer he stayed away from him, the more he would find himself struck by the commandments of his Lord; but once they were united, each more than friendly gesture would only fan in him a need for more, to prove the true strength and goodness of their affection.

And John was his. He could never abandon him – neither his morals nor his sensibility would allow it.

“...would it be possible to part from you this afternoon, my dear?” he asked quietly.

Betsey shifted, frowning at him softly. “For what reason? Must you meet with someone?”

Alex shook his head reluctantly – it would be an easy lie, and a believable one, given the recent trouble over Burr’s stunning attempt against his father in law’s seat.

“No… but, I was concerned about our Laurens and Frances on this day...”

Betsey stiffened immediately and pushed up to a sitting position. “I refuse.”

Alexander snorted, abruptly irritated. “There will be nothing inappropriate. I only wish to see them and join in the festivities with them – for an hour, at most.”

“Did you not speak to him this morning? And you will have plenty of time to join in festivities with him over the season – are you not planning a hunt with him before the new year?”

The bite in her tone betrayed more than disapproval of their relationship – the Dutch of New York took Christmas as a strictly spiritual occasion, and he knew she felt guilty at their gaiety each year.

“Yes, but today is different.” He shook his head, watching absently as Philip returned to pretend to spar with Jimmy while he shrieked with joy. “You know his tendency towards melancholy… And think of Fanny, at least.”

Betsey’s eyes were still narrowed. “Perhaps the best cure for his melancholy would be your absence.”

Tension immediately gripped hold of Alexander’s body, though he should have expected that response. “There will be nothing inappropriate,” he repeated in a harsh murmur. “If I come to him simply as a friend, how could that but ease his suffering?”

“Mama! Philip hit me!” Alec suddenly yelled, immediately bursting into tears.

“No I didn’t! I only touched him!” Philip insisted, demonstrating by thrusting his miniature sword towards his brother and tapping him lightly.

“He’s still doing it!” Alec wailed between sobs.

“Boys, please…!” Betsey stood with clear frustration. “Alec, you are too old to be whining, your brother is barely touching you.”

But Alec rushed forwards, clutching onto his mother’s skirts as he sniffled.

Betsey sighed. “Philip, apologise to your brother.”

Philip pouted. “Sorry, Alec,” he said reluctantly.

“There, that’s a good boy,” Alexander said, standing to ruffle his hair. “See, Alec? Your brother didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“But he did...” Alec mumbled among hiccoughs.

Feeling somehow more guilty than he had all day all of a sudden, Alexander cleared his throat. “Well, you’ll need to make up, because I’ll be leaving now for the next hour.”

Betsey froze, but Alexander barrelled on. “So I’ll need you all to be good for your mama, see?”

“I’m always good!” Philip declared, hands on his hips, with a dazzling grin.

“Not even remotely true,” Alexander drawled, stooping to press a kiss against Jimmy and Angelica’s foreheads. 

“Alexander-” Betsey said, but Alexander interrupted.

“I’ll only be gone an hour! Be good to one another!” he called out, walking backwards through the door and then striding swiftly through the hallway out onto the street.

Out in the air, he huffed a sigh, wincing as he heard a few more indecipherable calls from inside the house. As much as he desired their brood to grow, the children they had were already quite the handful…

But he was here for a reason and he didn’t regret it. And so he travelled quickly over to he house next door, behind which his lonely beloved waited patiently for him.

He knocked at the door and licked his lips again, suddenly unable to think of anything but how relieved he would be to see John once more.

It took a strangely long time for Shrewsberry to appear, and from the moment he saw him, Alexander was worrying.

“I’m here to see John, as I promised earlier,” he spoke quickly.

Shrewsberry frowned. “Yes… but I’m afraid he may be some time to rise...”

Alexander’s breath grew short, and he curled his hand into a fist; his suspicions were confirmed, then, he thought unhappily.

“That is no trouble – I can follow and see him upstairs in his room!” he said with faux cheerfulness.

Shrewsberry’s expression flickered, but as usual, he did not comment, merely ducking his head to invite Alexander in.

When the entered the hallway, Alexander said, “but first, where is young Frances?”

“In the sitting room.”

“I shall see her first.”

Frances was sitting in the widowseat, a heavy book rested over her skirt. She wasn’t surprised to see him.

“Merry Christmas again, Frances.”

“I’ve graduated from ‘young Frances,’ I see!” she replied lightly.

“On the contrary – the youth is so apparent it need not be elaborated on in speech.” He moved closer. “Speaking of which, what are you preoccupied with to-day?”

“Biology,” she said defiantly, hands curling around the tome protectively.

Alexander sighed. “Really, even on Christmas? Aren’t there so many more enjoyable activities a girl like yourself could be getting on with?”

“This _is_ enjoyable,” she retorted. “Why, what did you read when you were my age?”

The thought made Alexander wince, which he covered up by tossing his head in the direction of John’s room.

“Well, far be it from me to question your papa…” he said. “I heard he is still upstairs?”

Frances looked away, thumb working against a page of the book uneasily. “...yes.”

Although Alexander would never claim to understand his lover’s daughter as a general rule, in this, at least, they were entirely mingled – and so even as Alexander’s heart ached to know how John suffered, it was always a relief to find himself in the presence of another who knew him so well.

After a moment of silence, Alexander sat at the other end of the cushion. “Have you celebrated the day, at least?”

Frances nodded. “The servants are preparing a dinner, and papa promised to eat with me… and, honestly, when I lived with my grandpapa as a child we really didn’t do any more than that. He was always insistent that Christmas be a time of sacrifice and solemn reflection, not excess...”

“Ever the Huguenot.” Frances nodded deeply.

“Papa isn’t so strict...he gave me toys every year – but I refused this year.”

“Of course.”

“So it’s all fine. I can take care of myself.”

She nodded, bouncing the book in her lap for a moment, as though to emphasise her grown-up maturity.

“I can see. But I’m sure you’d be pleased if your father wasn’t ill so often.”

Frances pursed her lips, looking away again. “Of course,” she mumbled. 

“Well, I’ll try and see what I can do about that at least. I should be able to get him up and eager for dinner at least.” He slapped a hand to his knee and rose, noting with curiosity that Frances had gained a pensive expression.

Not for the first time, he found himself wondering what the girl thought about their relationship – she was certainly intelligent enough to notice they didn’t quite act as ordinary friends.

John would probably be horrified at the idea, though, he mused.

With that, he left Frances to her reading (or, as presently, rumination) and made his way upstairs to his friend’s room.

He knocked once. “John, are you awake?”

When he listened carefully, he could hear a quiet shuffling through the door, and so didn’t repeat himself when it took some moments for the door to open.

John’s hair was mussed – clearly, he had been prone – but his eyes were clear, despite the dark shadows beneath them. “Alexander… you didn’t need to come,” he said quietly, flexing his long fingers against the doorway.

Under different circumstances, it would have been a delightful picture - his lover clad only in his shirt and breeches, cheeks pink. But Alexander was filled now only with relief at his presence and the sound of his name on his friend’s lips.

In a moment, he was hugging John tightly.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I should be able to be here with you...”

“You are here,” John said softly, stroking his hair.

Alexander sighed. “If I had not said anything to her, we would all be together today as usual.”

John’s fingers curled in his shirt, but he did not respond.

He squeezed him tightly for one more long, warm moment, before Alexander pulled away enough to be led by John to the bed where they sat.

“You’ve been unwell,” he said, taking John’s hand.

John allowed him, eyes unreadable. “...it is not unusual for the season. It will fade...”

Alexander grunted, teeth clenching. His instincts were all in conflict, caught between loyalties to his Betsey and his John. If he could not even comfort John, what right had he to ask for forgiveness in this?

Because he had never been able to. At best, he had distracted John from his maudlin thoughts – but even now, more than ten years after they had first declared their true feelings for one another, he could but watch helplessly as his lover sank into misery.

For a moment, Betsey’s words from earlier crossed his mind. “ _Perhaps the best cure for his melancholy would be your absence.”_

And then John continued: “But, I have neglected you.”

Alexander’s eyes widened; John’s fingers rose and brushed softly against his lips, his cheek. He leaned into the touch without thinking, startled by how instantly it stopped the panicked cycle of his thoughts.

“You haven’t...” Alexander murmured, less strongly than he would prefer. “I was indiscreet this morning – I ought to have simply asked Betsey to see you in the evening, as I am now...”

John breathed in and out slowly. His hand felt so strong, so sturdy against him. Alexander didn’t understand it at all, how John could have so much difficulty with words and yet know the precise actions needed to soothe him. 

“You are my lover,” John said. “And I have a duty towards you.”

Alexander’s eyes widened – and then he huffed, lips twitching in memory.

“When you said that, it pleased me extraordinarily,” he confessed.

“I could tell,” John said, with a slight smile.

Alexander hummed, relaxing entirely, and shifted so that he could lean his head against John’s.

“I really was very upset I missed that first Christmas,” he said. “I was in a feverish state for the entire week… imagine, to regain clarity, and to hear all about exclaim that you are lucky to be alive, but the Christmas season is over!”

“And your birthday.”

“Oh, I was lucid for that… but it didn’t do me very much good.”

“I didn’t even know it was your birthday at the time, I think… certainly I have no memory at all of thinking of it.”

“No, I didn’t tell you until much later. I was very devoted to mystery, even then.”

“And you are now not?”

Alexander tilted his head. “Is it charming?”

“You are always charming. It is one of your worst qualities.”

“I believe I know many men who would argue you most vehemently there.”

“Fine. You are always charming _to me_. Which all that matters, really.”

Alexander smiled, running a finger over John’s knuckles.

“I… don’t blame you for your concern, on this day,” he said quietly.

John was silent for several moments. Alexander continued to trace his hand, pressing his fingertip against faded ink stains.

“You’ve still never been entirely honest with me, regarding how you feel about it...”

Alexander frowned, mouth against John’s neck. It would be easy to deny – he had certainly spoken on the subject before.

But still the bells sounded in his head, and his eyes fluttered closed.

“...I suppose,” he murmured, stretching out so as to settle more comfortably.

He heard John snort quietly, and then felt his arm wrap around him.

From next door, he heard faint singing. He ought to return home before too long, he thought.

But he had promised himself and John an hour. And no matter how few and far between their chances to take time together became, or how tired John would be or how frantic Alexander, he would always treasure every opportunity to be at his side more than the most priceless of jewels. It was always worth it, in the end, seeing John – even as he paced and prayed and pleaded God over and over for understanding, he could never regret their time together. 

“I love you,” he said.

John squeezed his side. “I love you, too,” he said, and the bells were silent.


End file.
